I fear the man is deeply unhappy and unbalanced, and hope that his family moves to place him in a sanitorium where he would be prevented from doing himself an injury.

Those with debased appetites will be happy to learn, however, that many of the characters' ankles are fully visible in several scenes in what I can only describe as an utterly prurient display of carnality. Also the young maiden is given to allowing small, quick exhalations through her moistened lips while staring…

(Drops a farthing in tin and keeps on walking)

Oh. Ah… perhaps you would all prefer to accompany me to church instead? There will by hymns, and moral rectitude. Also, a bell-ringing competition.

Othello is a dark love story.
Ah, that can be taken several ways. No slight is intended upon the Moorish peoples.

The Emperor's New Clothes always seemed scandalous to me, as much for its mockery of one's social betters as for difficulties maintaining clothing. It is well suited to salaciousness, I fear.

The actor who plays ill-fated detective 'Prez' has a remarkable performance as Buzz the elevator-jockey in the Hudsucker Proxy.

Some fusion of German and Irish, perhaps? Someone do fetch Mr. O'Neal to provide his expertise!

Poor Mr. Marx is likewise somewhat vague as to the exact nature of the utopia he posits, excepting that it will be a step forward and dispense with personal property. I find myself more aligned to his spirit of cooperation and tolerance than a total denial of the finest virtues of common Humanity. Dear Ms. Rand, I…

Do you speak from sad experience, or somewhat less than sad experience. And also, do excuse me for a moment.

For my qualifications I can offer a letter from my tutor which proclaims I am 'perfectly adequate' in French and somewhat better versed in comportment and music. Additionally I have managed to construct a pan-temporal communication device from a copper boiler, various cogs, a small model steam engine which is…

Come come, let us have no more of this Irish behaviour! By which I mean of course nothing whatsoever which is meant to offer offence, but rather a mild rebuke to those of Irish extraction who forget themselves and revert to their natural temperament.

I fear I must correct you, good Mr. Sacrelicious. The article opines that the American male has been so diminished as compared to the British male. Women are not included at all, and both may be counted among Americans and Britons. Which raises the question of a comparison between the respective nations' members of…

Why, how splendid! No longer may my detractors claim that I am the most verbose of those to frequent this charming imaginary social gathering. Of course, the subject is perfectly odious! The physical congress of men? Of course, we must accept such things do occur, but they are best left where one finds them- on…

Oh yes? May I assume that he is an eccentric as well as a wanton, then?

Though lacking much of the understanding of physics that those of your era likely acquire as children with contemptuous ease, I am still somewhat confused as to how a device seething with lilliputian particles strong enough to vaporize water at some great range, and through what I can only assume is no small amount of…

Poor dear Mr. Teas, it is not as bad as all that. Perhaps you might explore a more seemly and socially acceptable option, such as drinking yourself into a benumbed oblivion?

So… not period productions of the Victorian era with enormous attention to detail, then? Childrens' toys?

Perhaps deep down, the recipients of said award become aware of the trivial and arbitrary manner in which it is given, and so grow quietly resentful of its presence, a constant question to their abilities. "Am I earned?" the Oscar silently asks with dead, golden eyes. "And if earned, am I of any value? Had not a…

Dear lord and all his heavenly angels, enough! Enough!